


003 Bleed

by rhicola



Series: Bethyl Prompt List [2]
Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhicola/pseuds/rhicola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This drabble is a bit on the dark side of things. It deals with Beth and her feelings following her suicide attempt.</p>
<p>***TRIGGER WARNING: Self harm.*** You have been warned.</p>
    </blockquote>





	003 Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> This drabble is a bit on the dark side of things. It deals with Beth and her feelings following her suicide attempt.
> 
> ***TRIGGER WARNING: Self harm.*** You have been warned.

She liked the fall of rain. The pitter-patter on her window…the scent that it withdrew from the flowers and the soil…the calming way it revitalized her skin as it drip-dropped on her upturned face. When she was younger, it washed away the chalk drawings on her driveway, leaving her with a clean slate for the following day; and with a good downpour, it brought life to her father’s garden. That’s why she leapt from puddle to puddle, and ventured to school without an umbrella, and took such long showers—Beth Greene liked feeling alive.

Which was the exact opposite of what she was feeling now. She looked up at the tree branches crisscrossing above her, swaying gently with the breeze of the sunny day, and her chest ached. A dull sting reminded her she was still here, still on the farm, still alive despite her mother and brother being gone. Tears threatened the rims of her eyes and she inhaled sharply, her head lulling now as a sob shook her body. When she blinked and a few tears broke free, carving paths down her cheeks, she felt only emptiness.

Looking down, Beth turned the knife over in her hands. She examined it, taking in the details of the handle, how it was worn down by its owner’s hand. At the bottom of the blade “Busse” was engraved and the paint that had embossed the word was fading from use. But it was clean; the sun reflected off of its edge like it hadn’t ever been thrust through a walker’s skull before.

She set the knife aside and unbuttoned her jeans, shimmying them down over her hips to gather around her knees. Two red lines raced across the skin of her right thigh, each one drawn taut by a thin scab. Just like the one on her left wrist, bound by the sutures her father had placed just a few days prior. She lifted the knife, pressed it an inch below the ones she’d made the day before, and slid the blade along her skin, the pain relieving the tightness in her chest.

As she exhaled, Beth realized that she’d been holding her breath. She paused, waiting for the blood to pool around the cut she’d made and watching it spill over slowly. Without hesitation, she repeated the swift motion three more times, like she was slicing an orange open. The pain and emptiness that had enveloped her chest finally dispersed.

Leaning back against the tree, Beth closed her eyes and allowed the small gashes to bleed, smiling as one began to drip down. It felt like sweat trickling down the back of her neck on a hot summer day, like raindrops dribbling into her eyebrows. She was relaxed, reveling in the feeling that the endorphin rush gave her.

A twig snapped audibly, bringing Beth out of her thoughts. As she whipped around, she found Daryl Dixon, the angry redneck who’d been staying on her family’s farm with his group. His eyes widened as his gaze dropped to the girl’s leg, rising panic in her veins. She tried to yank her pants back up, but yelped as the fabric of her jeans rubbed her fresh wounds roughly.

When Beth glanced back up at Daryl, she realized that he’d turned away from her. His arm was outstretched toward her, and in his hand he held a red handkerchief, which she took reluctantly.

“Pressure, Beth,” the man had instructed softly without turning to face her. She balled up the cloth and pressed it against her skin, mopping up the blood that had spilled over.

As she looked up again, Daryl glanced at her over his shoulder and then slowly turned back, dropping to his knees beside her. She sucked in a breath at his closeness, but didn’t scoot away. “Can I have it?” he asked, referring to whatever it was she used to injure herself.

“Don’t be mad at me,” she breathed, dropping a hand to the ground next to her to retrieve the knife, which she offered up to Daryl.

Sitting back on his heels, Daryl took the knife from her hand and let out a quiet sigh. “Thought I lost it in the crick.”

He slipped the knife into its home in the sheath on his belt and looked back at Beth, who didn’t dare to meet his eye. She felt vulnerable, exposed to a stranger during one of her lowest moments. She fumbled with his handkerchief, unfolding and refolding it to use a clean side.

“It’s not worth it,” Daryl went on quietly. _Why did he care?_ “There’s always better ways—”

“How would you know?” Beth asked crossly, her voice wavering around the lump that had formed in her throat.

Even she was taken aback by her outburst. She immediately wanted to recant it, apologize for being rude and ask for him to continue. But before she could, Daryl followed up. “Look, I get it. The hopelessness, I lived it. Hell, we’re all livin’ it now.”

He stopped and inhaled deeply, as if thinking through his words. And instead of arguing, Beth waited and listened. “You got a place here, Beth,” he went on, choosing a different angle and making her realize that the news of her suicide attempt had spread quickly to the other group. “We need you here. We want you to be happy.”

Daryl reached out and paused, waiting for Beth to pull away, and when she didn’t, he peeled the cloth away from her skin. The bleeding had stopped completely now, which was a good sign. She hadn’t gone as deep as she had on her wrist. With the water bottle attached to his belt, he soaked the cloth and handed it back to her to clean herself up a little.

“You’re not gonna tell my dad, right?” Beth asked her voice small and afraid. She blotted her skin with the damp rag and finally stole a glance at Daryl, who shook his head. “Thank you, Mr. Dixon.”

 


End file.
